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To My Love: (and to anyone who likes a great story)

24 years ago on this day, the woman I love chose me to be Her mate. She is an incredibly beautiful woman; smart, talented and passionate. At the time of the decision, She was being courted by two other men, who were, by all rational standards, better choices than I. One was a Chemical Engineer, who would later become wealthy. The other was a 6’4” Adonis, who would become a success in his field as well.

But on February 14th, 1985, She gave back a ring to the wealthy man, and told the handsome man to take a hike, and told me, the poor, short, homely farmer’s kid, with no prospects whatsoever, that I owned Her heart.

I met Her, without realizing it, nearly 2 years before, during Veishea 1983. I was in SCA, and we were lining up for the Veishea parade, in a suit of chain-mail armor that I’d built with a friend over winter break. I was standing near the old Naval Science building, and She was walking to the Design Center, where her band was lining up on the grass. She was an very leggy blonde in a band major’s uniform that suddenly made it hard for me to breathe. All I remember of Her at that time were the legs and the eyes.

Fast forward to fall 1984. I am a Junior, preparing to study abroad in the Soviet Union with some people from the Russian language program, and I am invited by Professor Tatiana Tipton to her house to meet some of the alumni and fellow Ames residents who will be going to some of the same locations on a pleasure trip, while we students would be supposedly busy studying. I am enjoying some authentic Russian food, when I notice this incredible pair of eyes which float above this captivating smile, sitting in a corner on the floor, watching me. And then looking away. But there was a moment, there.

At this time, I am in a relationship, which ends abruptly a few days before I am scheduled to leave on our trip. My girlfriend quit school at Iowa State and moved across the country, back to where her parents live. To make things worse, I wrecked my ’69 Mustang the night before the trip, so I have to walk to Perkins, carrying my bags over ice-encrusted streets.

So, our group carpools to Minneapolis, flies to Finland, and we take a night train from Helsinki to Moscow. At this time, my best friend, who is the 6’4” Adonis, begins courting Her. I remember being glad for him, because She is obviously way out of my league. As if to prove how superior She is to me, I engineer a conflict, where we have an exchange of unkind words. Nothing major, but it is obvious to me that this exquisite creature is beyond my reach.

In Moscow, I avoid and my friend pursues Her, and despite his looks, I discover that he is hopelessly inexperienced and awkward around women. It’s odd that this hasn’t come up before, but I work to assist him in his pursuit. He keeps asking me to be his wingman, and I keep refusing, and fall in with a much less reputable fellow student, who leads me to various and sundry hedonistic pursuits, such as drinking heavily and womanizing. I seldom see Her, but when I do, I do my best to be rude and to disengage, because despite the surface combativeness between us, every time I look into those smoldering dark eyes, I see passion, and I am lost.

The night before we are to depart from Moscow to Kiev, She approaches me, and despite the shabby way I have treated Her, asks me to attend a special event. It’s as if my best dream and worst nightmare has intersected in one moment. I collect myself, and even though it feels like my heart is breaking, I try to act cool and turn Her down. So She goes with the other guy and I escape with my “evil” friend, and we get completely smashed and do completely terrible things.

The next morning, we meet for an awful breakfast of raw eggs dropped into individual cups of boiling oil before each place. But much worse than the eggs, was the baleful look of disgust in this lovely woman’s eyes. For word had spread of the prior night’s happenings, and She knew that I had chosen those things, instead of going with Her. And Her tongue is sharp, as She slowly and meticulously dissects me in front of the group.

At first, I take it quietly. For I deserve this. I deserve it for desiring a woman my best friend was pursuing. I deserve it for being a jerk to Her. And I deserve it for the awful way I behaved the night before. But assisted by my hangover and the eggs, my self-control eventually fails, and I blow up, describing in detail the bits that I remember from the night before. And then I stalk from the suddenly silent dining room.

I go to a common room, where we are to wait for the bus to take us to the plane to Kiev. I am alone, looking out the window, when I hear the door close behind me. As the skin prickles up the back of my neck, I turn, and see Her in all Her fury, standing by the door with clenched fists and jaw. Ever being the cool guy, I remark “Oh, it’s you.” And then I deliberately turn back around to look out the window. And with amazing force for someone so small, She tackles me from behind. My head bounces off the floor, and I am stunned. She starts to cry. She sobs, “You hurt my feelings!” and then gets up and leaves. I lie there for a moment, completely defeated.

I leave the room, and find our bus already waiting, so I take a seat on the bus. The bus is still quite empty when She gets on, walks directly to and sits down in the seat beside me. She sighs, heavily, and does not say a word. We do not speak, but something has passed between us that transcends spoken language.

The rest of the trip, we are close to each other, but never put words to our feelings. We do not overtly display affection, but it is obvious to everyone, except my incredibly dense Adonis-like friend what has happened. The rest of the stay in the Soviet Union is a blur. I only know that I am with Her, and that is sufficient.

We travel to Leningrad, and from there, we take another train back to Helsinki. On the way, I explain to this woman who now owns my heart that I know a woman in Helsinki who I had agreed to meet, as we knew each other years before. I also tell Her that I would like to introduce Her to this Finnish friend of mine, and She nods assent.

However, when we step off the train, this blonde bombshell dressed in a floor-length silver fox coat flies at me and with impressive enthusiasm, enfolds me into her arms. By the time I disengage myself from the embrace, the woman who I now love has gone in tears. And Professor Tipton as well as my fellow travelers are glaring at me, with obvious disgust.

To make things worse, this Finnish woman tugs at me, and explains that she is double-parked and we have dinner reservations at a prestigious restaurant. With her parents. Numbly, I allow her to drag me out to her car, and we are gone. While I contemplate how this must appear to the others, we have a delightful meal of poached salmon and champagne. Afterwards, she drops me off at the hotel, and I face the long walk up to get the key to my room.

Of course, the person with my key, along with everyone else, is crowded into one room. They are with Her, attempting to console Her by acting as if nothing has happened. I step into the room, and in a heartbeat, all 20 or so of them manage to set the world’s record for clearing out of a hotel room. Somehow, the guy with the key puts it in my hands. I walk over to Her, sitting in a chair, and get down on my knees, look into those bottomless, dark eyes, and explain what happened. And joy of joys, She accepts my explanation, with just a sniffle.

We return together, to Ames. And then as my heart breaks, we agree to part. For She is engaged to the Chemical Engineer. Just as it was with Her and the Finnish woman, She had explained this to me, once we started going places together, that She belonged to another. But I allowed my heart to lead my head, but once we got to Ames, I finally realized it was over. The 16th of January, 1985, I lost the only woman I would ever love. She returned to her life, and I returned to my bleak apartment and wrecked car. I had managed, somehow to be left scant weeks before by a girlfriend, and then immediately fell in love with someone I could never be with.

I went back to my life as a student, trying hard not to run into her on campus, because I was afraid of what would happen if I saw her again. Two weeks afterward, my phone rings. It is Her. She flails around trying to find something to talk about, and I give monosyllabic answers. Finally, She invites me to meet her somewhere. We meet, and talk about everything and nothing. We part, but it doesn’t feel as final as before. I see Her walking the next week, and the world does not end. One week later, on Valentine’s Day, She calls me to tell me that she has made an important decision. Fearing the worst, I refuse to talk to Her about it on the phone, so She suggests meeting at the Browsing Library at the M.U.. My feet feel like lead as I drag myself there. She is waiting for me in a chair, stands, and invites me to walk around Lake Laverne. While we are walking, She tells me that she has broken her engagement with her fiancé. And that, if I am willing to have Her, She’d like to be with me, for as long as I’d like. Forever, if necessary.

I am overcome by emotion and hold Her. We marry three years later.

She has kept her word. She has stayed with me, loved me, has borne two lovely children, and most of all, has sat at home hoping that the phone doesn’t ring, or the men don’t come to the door to bring regrets. I cannot express in words how much I love Her. In fact, because I switched jobs and the first paycheck hasn’t come yet, I can’t even afford to buy Her flowers. So, my gift to Her this Valentine’s day are these words. The story of how we began as well as telling the world how much I love Her.

Re: To My Love: (and to anyone who likes a great story)

My tale is not as long .....

Senior in High-school at Waterloo West my sister's girlfriend notices me running around the house. She takes one look at a kid that can do 20 one-handed push-ups and has a flat stomach and coal black hair and she's ....... interested.

I join the Us. Army as its either college or a job or a tour of duty with America's finest. My parents are fairly poor and my sister's going to college already and I didn't want to add to the financial problem, I am only 17 and can't get on at JOHN DEERES, therefore I became a dog face.

Viet Nam was in full swing when I said "I do" and when I was 18 years 9 months old I was standing *** deep in Bamboo wondering what the Hell did I do! This young lady however started writing me letters 3 months before while I was in "Jungle Training" as she wanted to write someone in the service. (Right) When I went to Viet Nam she wrote everyday and I would get the letters two weeks later. She would number them therefore when I got multiple ones I could keep track in chronological order. If she ended one letter with what she was going to do to me when I got home..... The next one kept it going in succession.

Came home and had leave and did some catching up!!

After my tour was over I went to Germany for 9 months and got a letter everyday. I missed home terribly and her in particular I 10-49'ed (transferred) back to Viet Nam so I could get another 30 day leave to again, catch up on the physical aspects of the Human Body Female persuasion.

Another year in Viet nam and it was home for good. Again, I got letters that were written everyday on my second tour also. She used to put perfume on them and when they came every GI had to smell it before it got to me. From the Mail Room, to the Orderly Room, To supply, to the mess hall, and to the Artillery Battery, then finally to me. Full of finger prints, and dirty and maybe some snot, it was the least I could do for my Buddies.

We celebrated our 38th on Feb 12th. I can't get rid of her.....
On a side note. My second tour, Many had small State Flags from their home states. They were about 18 inches by 12 inches and they hung them up in their hooches for all to see. Most from Massachusetts, California and Texas called me a pig farmer. After a few go arounds ( I'd whip their butts as after all, Waterloo West Wrestling Dan Gable etc.etc.) They learned that Iowa was a special place with good people and great wrestlers!!!

I ordered a IOWA State Flag not knowing who the Governor was from Des Moines and I'll be damned, I received a State Flag from the Honorable Governor Robert D. Ray...... A Flag that was a storm Flag that was 5 feet by 3 feet with those great words..... IOWA. "Our liberties we prize and our rights we will maintain." I hung it up over my Bunk right above my M-16 and it DWARFED everyone elses. Damn, I was so proud! Still am. I donated the Flag to Waterloo West High School and it hung in the library for years. It has since vanished and they do not know where it went! Thanks for listening!

PS. I can NO Longer do ANY one-handed push ups, have silver hair and my stomach sticks out a little!

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